


Apple Seeds

by AgusHeredia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Human, Human AU, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Impossible relathionship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), NSFW, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Smut, bookseller aziraphale, crowley has a flower shop, happy ending? maybe, hard feelings, no canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 04:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30050067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgusHeredia/pseuds/AgusHeredia
Summary: "I don't expect you to understand me, I just hope you don't hate me," he said hesitating, as if every word cut off him. "I hope that one day you can look back and smile for what we had, without saddening you or hating me for what we stopped having ...""Angel...""Goodbye, my love,"Anthony J. Crowley has a flower shop and the bookseller Aziraphale is his best client. However, things start to get difficult between them when they decide to become lovers. No resentment, no jealousy, no feelings...Easier said than done.(I'm terrible at summaries, but I promise the story is better)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Apple Seeds

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to HatKnitter for helping me with editing and for your endless patience. Understanding me is a challenge!

"We can't, Anthony," Aziraphale said distraughtly, feeling that he was leaving his heart in every word.

In front of him stood the most desolate image, and it felt devastating. He didn't want to say the rest of the words, but he had no choice. He knew the whole world would burn on them. He knew it was impossible. Maybe, some time ago, maybe if they'd met before...  
Maybe he wouldn't have to be standing here, with apple seeds clenched in his hand, looking at this man who stole his breath away, about to die of the pain.

"Don't do this, please don't."

"Why did you put me in this situation?" he speculated, angry. "You knew what this was all about. You're the one who explained it to me. No resentment, no jealousy, no feelings... weren't those your words?"

Crowley's gaze wandered all over the room, spotting each of the plants that had once belonged to him. He couldn't help but smile when he saw them. Maybe it was the last time, and it hurt, but he couldn't help but smile. He was leaving at least part of himself behind.

"That was before, Angel"

"Before?" Aziraphale asked sarcastically, without abandoning his scathing tone. That tone was his armour, it was the only thing that protected him. Without his anger, he would have nothing, and he could not fight unprotected. "Before what?"

"Before this," said the redhead, stretching out his hands to the bookshop, as if he could touch every little part just by stretching the tips of his fingers. "Before _us_."

Aziraphale's heart sank in his chest, and his eyes were suddenly wet. His anger had fled to some remote room in his brain, replaced by with something much deeper. Something sweeter, intoxicating, and, at the same time, dangerously corrosive. Something he didn't want to dwell on. Something that he had been forbidden, from the moment those amber eyes had stumbled upon his own.

He mustered his courage and breathed in with all his might, gathering the will necessary to do what he must do. He'd hate himself in the morning, and maybe for the rest of his life, but it's what needed to be done. It was the right thing to do.

"I'm married, Crowley, and you have a beautiful life that I'm not willing to ruin."

"You're a coward, you know that?" Crowley answered tightly, full of anger. "If you're going to leave me, at least have the decency to make a better excuse, "

"My marriage is a good excuse!"

"Your marriage doesn't exist! And it looks like you're the only one who refuses to see that!"

"You don't understand! You'll never understand!" shouted Aziraphale, crying. "I can't keep up with you! Not anymore!"

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

Crowley paused as he watched Aziraphale's thick tears coursing down his cheeks.  
His shallow breathing, his eyes red, panicked. He can’t stand his crying. Learned that the first time he saw him cry. His laughter was beautiful, his anger was tender, his modesty was charming. But his crying, his sadness... it was destructive.  
 _But I can’t let him go. I won’t let sadness put an end to this. This is my struggle. I’ll fight for him, even if it means having to fight him.  
_ _I’ll do whatever it takes._

"You're so clever…," lamented the redhead, softly and quietly, approaching him calmly. "How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?"

The pain reflected in those words made it impossible for Aziraphale to stay. Those golden eyes gazed at him as if they could see through his flesh, and he knew it. They would look through his soul and discover his secrets, everything he kept locked up. But he couldn't afford that, he wouldn't forgive himself. He loved Crowley and wanted to stay, but for the same reason, he had to go.

With no strength to argue, and knowing that it was useless to try to win this argument, Aziraphale approached him cautiously, and placed a hand on his cheek in one last tender caress, full of meaning. He looked him in the eye, broken and desolate, and let his other hand reach for the redhead's. He found it a moment later, cold and shaking. He could remember that hand on his chest, and the touch with his lips when he had kissed him tenderly, on each occasion, after making love.

He quickly slid the seeds into his hand, and the redhead accepted them without breaking his gaze. No breathing. It wasn't necessary any more. The taller one thought he'd never need it again.

"I don't expect you to understand me, I just hope you won't hate me," he said, hesitating, as if every word cut him. "I hope that one day you can look back and be happy for what we had, rather than being sad or hating me for what we stopped having…."

"Angel...,"

"Goodbye, my love."

Not allowing himself another word, Aziraphale took a step back and broke his gaze, holding his breath long enough to keep from crumbling as he stood there. Then he turned and walked away. When he opened the door, Soho's cold wind greeted him and froze his tears, one after the other, as they slipped down his chin, showing him as a pitiful and pathetic character.

He quickly crossed a corner and hastened his pace, determined to get away quickly. He walked for what seemed like hours, but without stopping.

He could see, in the distance, the blinding lights of the hospital. If he lifted his head, he could smell the bitter scent. He could feel his cheeks burning and his blood travelling through his body, and his stomach twisted with fear and anguish.

He had to do this. There would no turning back.  
He pushed the door and went in.

**—Soho, London. Six months earlier—.**

Crowley overturned the contents of the jerrycan into the sprinkler and put on his apron. He tied his hair up in a high bun and finally headed to the front, where he changed the sign from "Closed" to "Open," starting another day of work.

He still had to clean up some leaves, repot some plants, and fight the pests that were devouring his poor petunias in the garden.

He was very focused, scolding a fern, when the doorbell sounded. Two men came in, and he hurried to get up off the ground, kneeling as he had been for almost fifteen minutes. He knew his knees must be a disaster. The place in general was covered with dirt, compost, and the loose leaves of some rebellious vegetation.

"Hello gentlemen," greeted the redhead, fixing his apron. "How can I help you?"

The taller of them, a man in his forties, looked past Crowley, but surveyed the place with amazement. Each little flower seemed to draw his attention, and his brown hair moved gracefully over his shoulders every time his head turned to a view new species. The shorter, a man with pale skin, red cheeks, and a plump body, seemed completely out of place and stared back out the window constantly. For some reason, his almost-white blonde hair gave him a sweet look that made Crowley’s stomach uncomfortable.

"I can't be here long, Oscar. Please choose something, "

"Okay, all right," Oscar protested, looking at Crowley for the first time. "I need an indoor plant. A tough one," he emphasized with a smile. "My husband is not very good with plants, "

Crowley smiled. He took a quick look at their hands and found that they both had bands on their left ring fingers. He headed to the back of the store, picked up a perfect green ficus, and felt his stomach smooth over with some pride. He loved to see other people celebrating their love, now that they were allowed. He had participated in many marches, fighting for the legalization of marriage for the LGBT+ community, and had celebrated with all the rest the day the law was passed. He had even thought about making good use of it a few years ago, with his last partner... before he’d cheated on him with one of his co-workers and thrown him away, of course.

"This plant is very easy to care for, one of the best, and it’s great for decoration."

Oscar examined it curiously, but his companion hardly took his eyes off the window. He seemed anxious to get lost in the crowd, wherever he was watching.

"What do you think, dear?"

For the first time the red-cheeked man seemed to be there with them. He looked at the plant, smiled, nodded slightly, and looked out again.

"Okay, that's good enough for me," announced Oscar, smiling. "I'll take it, "

Crowley wrapped the bottom of the plant in a sheet of paper and put it in a bag. By the time the taller man had paid for it, his companion was already outside, heading toward the huge shop that had recently opened across the street. Crowley frowned, a little annoyed by that attitude. He couldn't stand rude people, even though he was one of them sometimes.

"Please excuse him," said Oscar gently. "He's been under a lot of stress lately, and can't detach himself from that bookshop."

"Is it yours?”

"Yes, opened recently, "

"I thought someone had opened another bakery,"

"Oh, no. Although Aziraphale would be delighted with that idea, believe me," he answered with a little laugh. "Well, I'll stop taking up your time. Thank you," he said, lifting the plant.

When the man left, Crowley watched him cross the street, open the door of the old bakery, and get lost inside what he now knew would soon become a bookshop. A new bookshop, run by an unfriendly bookseller.  
A handsome, married, strange-haired, unfriendly bookseller.

He spent the rest of the afternoon inside, attending one or two other customers who bought two of his favourite plants, a jasmine and a beautiful geranium he had been caring for long time. Before he knew it, the afternoon welcomed the night and, by the time he got back from the back, it was time to close.

He took his apron off and set up the indoor plants he had brought out to absorb the light for the day. Then he grabbed his glasses and his car keys, and picked up his phone which, to his surprise, had several new messages.

_"Come meet me. It's Friday. Do you plan to stay locked up all your life?" – Message received 8:35 p.m._

The redhead sighed. He couldn't remember how many times he’d told Anathema he wouldn't go out with her again. Yes, she was his best friend since high school, and yes, he loved her, but she had a silly mission in mind that she herself had created: to get her best friend a partner. Crowley hated it.

He didn't want to do it, didn’t want to start a new relationship. After his failed attempt at engagement with his unfaithful and dreadful ex-boyfriend, he had decided that he would no longer fall for it. Love was dangerous, painful, frustrating. Meeting someone and getting to know them took a long, long time. He’d rather fuck someone fast. It was exciting and didn't last long enough for things to get weird. They would walk through the door, say hello, go to bed, and then leave in the morning. They’d go on with their lives as if nothing had happened. No resentment, no jealousy, no feelings.

Life could be very simple that way, if one committed to it.

_"Yes, that's my plan, and it's a great plan. I'll watch Titanic over and over, and drink until I pass out. Good night" – Message sent 8:37 p.m._

Soho's cold snuck under his coat, chilling him to the bone. He hated the cold. He took his buzzing phone between his fingers, sharpening his sight to see the screen amid the drizzle, and cursed quietly that he’d had to leave his car several blocks from his shop. The traffic was irritating, even more so than the terrible weather. Soho was so crowded. There was never a place to park and there were never sunny days.

If he thought about it, he hated London. He didn't understand why he had decided to move here in the first place.  
 _Oh, right._ He’d had no choice.

 _"Well, someday you'll have to go out, and I'll be too old to come with you. You need to have fun, meet people!!"_ – _Message received 8:39 p.m._

Crowley picked up his phone again and started to type an answer, concentrating on the screen. It was only two blocks to his car, and he smiled against the cold as he imagined his tub at home full of hot water. He'd take a good bath, have a glass of wine, maybe watch a movie. Maybe he could even find someone to spend the night with. It was Friday after all. He deserved a bit of joy.

_"I hope you enjoy your boring movies and your life full of self-pity" – Message received 8:40 p.m._

The redhead frowned, hurt. He could take anything, but ‘self-pity’? That was a low blow, even from her.

_"Well, I hope you enjoy your stupid party, full of emptiness and..._

_And..._ Shit, he could think of something better, right? He liked to have the last word.  
Full of... Loneliness, sadness, **horn** , repentance? Not sex, sex was a good thing. **Horn**. _Horn?_

"Hey! You!"

He felt a strong grip on his arm, and someone pulled him back at the exact moment a car passed in front of him, the driver insulting him from the distance. It took him a second to regain his feet, and the hand on his arm travelled to his back, keeping him in balance. His heart was beating fast, and he had almost dropped his mobile. It was a miracle he hadn't screamed.

"Are you deaf?" asked the man beside him, looking thoroughly annoyed. "He honked, and I yelled at you, twice!"

"I- I'm sorry," apologised Crowley. His rescuer was vaguely familiar.

The man relaxed his countenance and sighed. When he looked at him again, Crowley immediately knew where he recognized him from. That almost-white blonde hair was very distinctive, and even seemed to sparkle under the little raindrops.

"You're the new bookseller, aren't you?" he asked, replacing his glasses over his nose. "Aziraphale."

"Do I know you?"

"I work in the flower shop there. You came in to buy a plant today?"

"Oh, yes, the flower shop, "

Crowley quickly noticed how uncomfortable the man next to him was. For some reason, he was frowning, his gaze was distant, and his body trembled all over. Another sudden and impatient horn woke him up, and they both crossed the street, the traffic light now having changed.

"Well, I suppose I have to thank you," remarked the redhead as he got to his car.

"What for?"

"Oh, you know, for saving my life and stuff.”

"Oh, yes, of course."

Aziraphale began to walk away through the rain without even saying goodbye, still distraught and shaking. For some reason, Crowley couldn't let him go. He hated how strange that silly bookseller was, but he owed him, and it didn't feel right to leave him to walk in the cold, wet night. On the other hand, the man was an idiot. He was rude, weird…

_You might as well just let him go. Yes, that's what you are going to do. Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it..._

"Were you going somewhere?" Crowley asked aloud, almost yelling when he saw that Aziraphale was already half a block away.

"What do you think?" sneered the blonde, turning to look at him, completely soaked and irritated.

Crowley growled. _You see? He's an idiot. He doesn't deserve your offer. Go home. Getting wet won't kill him._

He nearly gave up, but his feet acted on their own, carried him until he was just a few steps away. Aziraphale was trembling like a leaf, _the bastard_ , but when he felt a presence behind him, he turned again, completely annoyed.

"Can I help you?" His blue eyes glared as Crowley. "I don't like being followed, to be honest, "

The redhead blushed. He certainly wasn't a pervert, and he definitely wasn't the one acting strange. He quickly raised his right hand to show the keys to his car.

"I can take you, if you like."

Aziraphale frowned for a millisecond, and Crowley could see all the gears in his head working. He also noticed that he had some papers in his hand, and a couple of books pressed tightly to his chest, as he tried to keep them dry. Crowley smiled sideways as he glanced at them.

"My car is very dry. There is no rain, no moisture, nothing to damage those precious books,”

Aziraphale snorted, clearly thinking it would have been a thousand times easier to just let him get run over a few minutes ago. That he found his insistence annoying. But he was also clearly considering the condition of the books.

"All right, " he agreed.

They walked towards the Bentley in silence. Crowley opened the door and let him settle into the passenger seat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed someone to sit there. Maybe Anathema, drunk, on one of those nights when she’d called him to come pick her up. Yes, he still remembered the smell of vomit, and how he had scolded her for months. After that, he’d never allowed her to touch his car again. He wouldn't even let her sit in the back.

"Where are we going?"

Aziraphale did not respond immediately. As he sat, he looked at the books carefully and dried them with his coat, making sure the pages inside were not too wet.

After a minute or so he looked up. "To Saint Thomas Hospital."

Crowley raised his eyebrows and started the Bentley. He finally spoke when they passed the third traffic light, fed up with the silence of his companion.

"Were you going to walk there?"

"Excuse me?"

"It’s a long way to walk, hard to get there with this rain, and with books."

"Oh, yes. Actually, I...," He began to speak, hesitating. "I don't know, I didn't really think about that. I tried to call a cab but none showed up, and I needed to get there quickly."

"Is it an... an emergency?"

"Something like that."

Crowley watched him, full of curiosity. He knew there was no point in asking him for details. The hesitant blonde wouldn’t tell him anything. But maybe he could make things more interesting, play with him a little.

"In that case, hold on tight."

Before Aziraphale could complain, Crowley pressed the throttle, and the Bentley shot through the streets of Soho. The blonde's hand grabbed tightly on the handle and his body bent back, his eyes open wide, his face twisted in panic.  
He definitely didn’t want to die like this. Not before he hand over the books, at least.

"For God's sake!" Aziraphale exclaimed when they passed through a red light. "You can't do ninety miles per hour in central London!"

"Why not?"

"You’ll get us killed!"

"You said it was an emergency!"

Crowley found he was pleased that the blond was frightened, but he slowed down considerably. For some reason, he enjoyed making fun of him. The way his countenance twisted made him want to do it some more. He could spend the whole night annoying him, just to get another one of his _looks_.

Fifteen minutes later, the Bentley pulled up in front of the hospital, and Aziraphale quickly climbed out of the car. He glanced at the driver, one last glance through the window, and his lips parted to speak, clearly at a loss for words.

"Thank you?" Crowley ventured.

For the first time all day, Aziraphale smiled. A real smile, accompanied by a little laugh and a sigh at the end. A sigh of _"you're an idiot"_ or maybe a _"I appreciate being on the ground again."_

"Thank you...," Aziraphale said finally, lengthening the moment, waiting for something.

"Anthony," replied the redhead quickly, stretching out to shake his hand through the window. "Anthony J. Crowley."

"Aziraphale Fell," replied the blond, holding his hand with a gentle squeeze before walking away.

Crowley watched him for a moment, nodded a small acknowledgement when Aziraphale turned his head back one last time before entering.

\----

The hospital had been busy, as usual, and it had been a nuisance to leave Aziraphale to deal with it, but a feeling stayed with Crowley upon arriving back at his apartment. No bad. Not empty. Something... strange.

Accompanied by a considerable amount of curiosity.

When he was a kid, his mother had always told him that his curiosity was his biggest flaw. _"Curiosity killed the cat...,"_ she kept repeating to him, even though she knew that hurt him. Finding his way out of the closet hadn’t been easy, although of course nothing would have been easy or enough for her. _“The questions annoy God”._

It was no surprise to anyone when her nineteen-year-old gay son decided to leave the house. For shame, some said; for rebellion, others murmured; but no one really knew. No one knew the freedom Crowley had gained that day.

He left the keys on the table and went to the bathroom. He opened the taps, undressed, checked the water temperature, and got in, aware of all his muscles as they relaxed in the heat. He woke his phone after a moment and went into that disgusting dating app he had. It wasn't good, it wasn't reliable (what website was?) but he had gotten some good nights with it. Some forgettable, some just boring. He saw a blond guy, blue eyes, good looking... could almost be the bookseller's brother. He put a ‘yes’ on him. Then another, dark eyes, gray hair, dyed... Maybe.

It would be fun to find him, wouldn't it? Although he didn't look like the sort of guy who would use apps like that. And, of course, he was married.

Another guy, John. Green eyes. No, definitely not. He hated green eyes.

To tell the truth, Crowley knew a lot of people. Single people, married, unfaithful, in love... perhaps Aziraphale was one of them. A married man without a stain on his record. He was a book-lover, a nerd. He had to be romantic to the core, right? People like that were the best in bed, he'd found. He had pulled several of them, and almost all of them had passed the test (except one who had not wanted to use a condom).

Another guy. Kurt. Blue eyes, brown hair. Maybe... Yes. He answered immediately.

Maybe Aziraphale was one of them, an angel who became a demon in bed.... But it didn't do to think about it, anyway. He was married. Married to a man who, honestly, wasn't bad at all. This Oscar guy was attractive. They made a strange couple, but all couples were strange to Crowley. Love was strange. It changed people until they were unrecognizable.

So, well, they could be a happily married couple, if that worked for them.

He would open another bottle of wine, get dressed, and wait for this guy. What was his name? Oh yeah, Kurt.

Or maybe he wouldn't get dressed at all.

Better to get things done fast.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you are prepared for this trip. I will try to post often! I want to write but university takes a lot of my time. Also: please remember that I do not speak English, so your corrections are more than welcome!


End file.
